


the shape of love

by eccentrick



Series: Witcher Ficlets [4]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Unrequited Love, mer jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:15:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28095282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eccentrick/pseuds/eccentrick
Summary: The visage of love has long been elusive. It is a shape-shifting word, exalted and cursed in the same breath, but wistfully longed for once it's gone. Love is feared and shunned, exiled for crimes committed against the heart.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Witcher Ficlets [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1992151
Comments: 5
Kudos: 32





	the shape of love

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Hope you guys enjoy this. I've had this idea in my head for awhile so figured I could use it as a warm up. It turned out out to be more than that lol. Let me know if you guys want more! I love comments and kudos even if I sometimes don't reply to them; just know I reread them all the time. 
> 
> If you guys have any requests for my next ficlet (or you want me to write a happy ending for this) send me an ask on my writing sideblog @ eccentrick-ramblings!

The visage of love has long been elusive. It is a shape-shifting word, exalted and cursed in the same breath, but wistfully longed for once it's gone. Love is feared and shunned, exiled for crimes committed against the heart. 

Jaskier can go on about love for hours, if he has to. He knows enough about it, in fact, that he calls himself something of an expert. The thought of love crosses his mind often. Too often, if his witcher has anything to say about it besides his signature grunt. 

But, if you had invisible shards of glass shredding the soles of your feet and intangible thorns wrapped between your toes, ready to draw every ounce of punishment for wanting more, you'd have to have something on your mind too. 

Sometimes, he asks himself, why? What about this land, this wretched continent in all its hideous glory, made him long for legs? To be able to walk on two feet? He can't remember the exact moment he decided he wanted to leave the sea behind, not in so many words or moments. What was even appealing to him at the time? The shores bloodied by war, or perhaps the burning lights of the pyres? 

But, every time he finds himself close to regret, the world reminds him, brings him back to himself. A child shyly asking for a song, giving Jaskier a toothy smile as he starts a silly ditty. A peasant family feeding him when the rotting fruit thrown at him won't suffice, or he has no stale bread to stuff in his pants.

Or, a witcher who helps those who scorn him. 

You can say that the witcher only does what he does for the coin; it's in the 'code' Geralt keeps invoking even when Jaskier knows it's a crock of bullshit. But he's been there during lean times; when even Geralt is going hungry, his body still strong but heading towards gaunt, where all Jaskier can hope for in taverns is a bowl of watery stew and a bed to rest his weary head. During those times, Geralt does what he can do to help, since lean times means necrophages and wraiths, and only asks for payment when he knows they are able. Usually, he asks for grain instead, for Roach, or cured meat for him and Jaskier. 

The witcher _is_ an ass, granted. Jaskier will never deny that.

"Can we please stop for the night, _Ger_ alt? Geralt. Geralt. Can we stop for the night? I can keep this up if you need me too. I know how much you love my fillingless pie of a voice." 

Jaskier can see Geralt's grip on Roach's reins tighten for a moment before he loosens it. From the broad of his back, Jaskier can deduce that he's irritating the witcher. Good. His feet feel like they've swollen to twice their size, the glass and thorns drawing no blood but creating an ache in his veins regardless. They've been walking for hours, and he knows there's a decent sized town ahead. If they keep this up, the pain will crawl up his legs and settle in his hips, so that even laying down to sleep will be agonizing. 

He walks faster despite the screaming in his feet and sidles up to Geralt, "Look, even Roach is tired! Right, Roach?" 

Roach lifts her head up and down, side to side in a horsey agreement. 

"Don't think I don't know you've been bribing her to agree with you," Geralt says, but he doesn't sound too put out. 

Once the town is in sight Geralt stops without any long suffering sighs, so Jaskier suspects he's tired as well. Or perhaps, wants to have his own room away from Jaskier, but he doesn't want to think about that. He hums to himself, thinking about getting his lute out of its case and playing a set in the nearest tavern. 

The town is big enough to have two, so Jaskier goes to the loudest one, leaving Geralt to brush Roach down and get her settled in a stable. Once he steps into the rowdy tavern, his heart drops.

If it was any other person, Jaskier would praise the fact that she can stand out from the crowd with barely a glance. But Yennefer, with her long locks of black hair and striking purple eyes lined with thick eyelashes, does not bring out awe in him. 

_Oh._

So that's why Geralt was so willing to stay here.

He knows he can't avoid her, and as he walks over to her table in the corner (why do Geralt and Yennefer have this strange thing in common? Are they brood-sexual? Is this why they're so hot for each other?) the pain in the joints of his feet double. 

"Bard." Yennefer greets. It holds less bite than usual. 

"Witch." 

Her nose wrinkles as Jaskier sits down across from her. "If I can smell you across the room, I fear what Geralt will reek of." 

Jaskier is suddenly too tired to be offended. He probably does smell. He just wishes such a simple thing wouldn't have the power to make him feel even worse when coming out of the witch's mouth. She knows she already won. Why must she rub it in?

She tilts her head. "What, no quip? Snarky come back? I thought bards are supposed to be witty." 

"Not quite in the mood," Jaskier says through gritted teeth. Any good humor has left him. His feet throb. 

"How disappointing. Tell me, how are your feet?"

Jaskier freezes, his heart tumbling in his chest. 

"I know they must be aching-"

"Yen."

Jaskier is both relieved and horrified at the sound of Geralt's voice. At the way the nickname -- one that only Geralt can use while keeping his balls -- sounds so soft, yet firm. Fond. 

"I do hope you have a bath waiting," Yennefer says by way of greeting. Her face is still hard, without the minute lessening of tension that usually happens in Geralt's presence. 

"Hmm, I'll ask for one if you quit badgering the bard. I hope you know I'm not into feet that way." 

A small smile graces Yennefer's face. "Does it matter if you aren't?" 

Geralt grunts. "I'll be upstairs." 

There it is. A shape of love. Twisted and forlorn, two broken pieces forging new peaks. Is it healthy? Jaskier doesn't know. But he knows it hurts, his jagged edges becoming smooth under the rough waves pushing against his heart. Most would view the erosion as a good thing, fingers less likely to get cut when its cradled. But Jaskier knows that it simply means he's worn down. 

In that moment, sitting in the corner alone as Yennefer brushes past him with purpose, he misses the sea more than anything.


End file.
